


Without Stars

by PitsOfDisclaire



Category: A New Brain - Finn/Lapine
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Musicals, NO DEATH, No Blood, Sad with a Happy Ending, a new brain, and anxiety and struggling, but not too angsty, gordo and roger love each other, im hoping this to be angsty, just depression, like dont worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitsOfDisclaire/pseuds/PitsOfDisclaire
Summary: "The hospital room was cold and empty. It cut through the universe like a ship sailing through a dark sea. He knew that the stars were above him and that it was cold. He knew that his heart was aching and his brain was exploding. There was nothing he could do."Gordon Schwinn is a writer, with a mind as deep as the sea. But with no time to write and no ideas to explore his mind begins to fight back. It isn't long before the storm in his head takes over his life and in turn, after collapsing, he finds himself trapped in a hospital.//I suppose this fic is a character study, I'm delving into Gordon's anxieties and what has been building up in his life. What happened before the musical, I suppose?//





	Without Stars

**Author's Note:**

> My first anb fic! woop woop! Please let me know what you think! P.s this is only the first chapter! More updates to come :)

On the most forward point of darkness, deep within the depth of the night, there was a city. In this city, there were structures of monochromatic towers, lit up by the glows of hospitality. In one of these structures there was an apartment and in this apartment, a man sat at his desk. Scraps of papers littered the floor, their stories untold, their notes erased. Chewed pens that had seen far better days were strewn across the desk, as well as crumbs and dust. In front of the man, there was a small keyboard, it’s cable a tangled knot. To its left was a mug of coffee, that had turned cold hours before. To its right was a notepad, where the man scribbled words only coherent to him. He would write, cross and scrap his words, before tearing out a page and throwing it across the room. He had five pages left.  
  
_“Frogs have so much, spring within them…”_  
  
The man himself was as messy as the table. His curls were greasy bundles of frizz and the bags beneath his eyes were heavy and dull. Half-lidded eyes stared blankly down at the keyboard and he had to drag his gaze to the notepad. He kept a slow monotonous beat with his foot, the dull pounding numbed his brain as he sang the words he wrote. Humming, he would play a note or two on the keyboard, before groaning and smacking his hand down, waking his lover who was resting in the next room.  
  
_“Gordo, it’s 2 am. Come to bed,”_  
  
A tall man leaned against the doorway. Concern hung on his face as he gazed into the small makeshift office. He stood there, blinking slowly.  
  
_“I can’t. I need to work,”_  
  
He finally tore his stare from the keyboard, only to look at his lover pleadingly. It had been like this almost every night for the past month. Gordon was running on about 3 hours of sleep every day while he worked for over 12 hours a day. The more tired he was the less he could work, but the more he slept the less time he had. It was a horrible cycle.  
  
_“Gordon. You’ve done enough, please, get some sleep. You can work tomorrow,”_  
  
He shook his head, panic flooding his eyes. He spoke in a hissing, whisper.  
  
_“But I can’t. This is due for tomorrow. If I don’t finish it I’ll be fired,”_  
  
The man in the doorway sighed and shook his head. His body was tempted to take a step forward.  
  
_“You’re more important. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken this job,”_  
  
_“Maybe you should just go back to sleep and leave me alone!”_  
  
Silence.  
  
_“I’m sorry,”_  
  
_“It’s fine,”_  
  
The door slammed behind the man as he walked away, leaving Gordon alone. A chill made its way into the room stealthily. He could feel as the night began to close in on him and the darkness grew darker. As he grew smaller the room grew bigger, each paper pile a mountain of mistakes. He sighed, cradling his head in his hands until eventually, he fell asleep.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When Gordon woke up the next morning, he was on the couch with a blanket thrown over him. The apartment felt empty, which must’ve meant his lover, Roger, had left for work. Roger the sailor, who got to spend his days down at the docks and his evenings sailing, making money and being happy. Lucky him, Gordon thought. But he couldn’t be mad at him, only jealous. Besides, Roger deserved far more than he did. On the coffee table was his notepad, down to the final page and on it was a note, left by said boyfriend.  
  
_“Couldn’t carry you to bed. Too tired. I love you xxx._  
_-P.S you owe me dinner.”_  
  
With those words, the guilt came crawling in and last night’s chill returned. What did he do to deserve him? And what did Roger do to deserve to be yelled and hissed at? As the pit in his stomach grew, the clock ticked on and Gordon realised that he was about to be late for work.  
  
_“Shit.”_  
  
Again.  
  
_“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,”_  
  
He scrambled off the couch, nearly knocking over the coffee table as he did. There was no time for breakfast, or to quickly scribble down the lyrics to a song. He needed to grab his laptop and go, as soon as possible. Never before was he so thankful to have slept in his clothes from the day before.  
  
_“Oh Jesus Christ, fuck me,”_  
  
Rushing into his room he frantically foraged for his laptop. Roger must’ve tidied it away because he's so perfect and neat and tidy. He tore apart his bedroom. Pillows were thrown across the room, he lugged at the covers until they were on the floor. He searched every drawer and under everything but to no avail.  
  
He decided to fuck it. Rhoda would be bound to let him borrow her’s. Of course, now the main problem was where the fuck were his shoes.  
  
Or his coat, or his phone.  
  
His beady eyes pleaded with the universe, begging to have simply one day go right for once. He scanned the room, everything was a mess. When everything was clean and tidy, everything was easy to find. His stomach rumbled. Perhaps, he should eat. But breakfast only took up more of his extremely limited time.  
  
He fell to his knees. It felt as if the walls of his room were closing in on him, crushing him. His skull had grown heavy and small, his heart was ready to burst and his breathing was far too erratic to be healthy. The world was spinning too fast, and Gordon was getting dizzy.  
  
He collapsed to the floor, curling up into fetal position as he began to let out strained sobs. The cycle in which Gordon was trapped in was cruel. He needed money to survive, he needed sleep to work, he needed work for money and time to rest but with work, he had no time and without time he couldn’t sleep and without work, he had no money and without money, he couldn’t live. He stamped his feet on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, letting out a yell muffled by a sob. The blood pounded in his head and it felt like his brain about to explode.  
  
He couldn’t go on like this.  
  
He let time tick by him as he wasted away on the floor. Every now and then he’d let out another strangled cry as he poured his eyes out. They were bright red and he could feel it. He felt the tears dripping down his face and the dryness of his skin and the stupid headache that wouldn’t leave.  
  
Then something from his pocket vibrated and he deflated even more.  
  
_“You’ve got to be kidding me,”_  
  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Fan-fucking-tastic, he thought. It was a text from Rhoda, asking where he was. Why couldn’t he be like Rhoda? She has an amazing work ethic. She’s paid well and she always happy. In fact, it seemed as if everyone but him was happy constantly.  
  
Exhaling deeply he pulled the phone to his face, opening it and scrolling to his contacts. Soon there was the slow, infuriating beep as he waited for the other to answer, their phone would most likely be off, as usual.  
  
But eventually there was a click, and a voice was coming through.  
  
_“Hey, is everything okay?”_  
  
Gordon sighed, steadying his heartbeat before he answered.  
  
_“No… I-I need you to come home. Please,”_  
  
_“Babe, I’m at work, I shouldn’t even be answering-”_  
  
_“Please, I’m sorry about last night. I really need you. Please, it’s just one day,”_  
  
_“Alright, alright. I’ll be there soon, just get into bed, okay?”_  
  
Gordon whispered his love before hanging up, throwing the phone to the side of him. He couldn’t go on like this. His body wouldn’t be able to handle this. Roger didn’t deserve this. Rhoda didn’t deserve this. His mom wouldn’t deserve this, fuck, not even his horrible, homophobic boss deserved this.  
  
The phone began to ring. He didn’t need to check to know that it was Rhoda. He let it ring out and when she called again he ignored it. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for his boyfriend to save him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_The hospital room was cold and empty. It cut through the universe like a ship sailing through a dark sea. He knew that the stars were above him and that it was cold. He knew that his heart was aching and his brain was exploding. There was nothing he could do._  
  
_He sat in his bed, gazing up at the ceiling, wishing for the stars to be revealed._  
  
_Wishing for his lover to come soon._  
  
_The bed was stiff and far too big for one person. There was room for him, he said he’d be there._  
  
_There was a stormy sea inside his head and the world was cutting into it. Thunder clouds clouded his every thought. Shocks of lightning ran down his nervous system. The hurricane inside his brain was swelling into an enormous, monstrous entity._  
  
_Sometimes, it would feel as if he had been submerged underwater. Through blurry ripples he could see the world moving around him, spinning. People would talk, but what they said he couldn’t understand. He just thought it was his own, egotistical brain getting the better of him. Maybe it was._  
  
_The clock ticked on._  
  
_His lover was nowhere to be seen._  
  
  


 


End file.
